Sanguine Treacle, Insidious Venom Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

This is the rancid poison of the disappearance
As I dream hazy dreams and stellar hallucinations
Across the antechamber of your poignant Sun.
This venom that crawls like a child upon
Shards of glass and burning embers,
Thrives in me like a fire in a hearth;
The sad contrive lives in the winter
And the dimming autumn is sequestered
In the pockets of glaciers - in your furlough.
You are the sanguine treacle, the panacea
Of this malady, the keys to the locks,
The answers to the enigmas, and the riddles
Of the wise. You are everything I know,
Though you are vague as the rain in Summer.
I drank the love from your crimson lips
And this, the poison that rampages through
My entirety as you are not here, or everywhere I go.
You are the treacle and I come to you
To poison myself and detoxify through and through
As my physiology is filled with the rawness
Of your frost and conflagration.